


let me tell you about longing

by theappleppielifestyle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, both of the boys cling to their heterosexuality, brief use of hypnotism, incorrectly used hypnotism dudes like for real this is not how that shit works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:18:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is straight. So is Tony.</p><p>And yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me tell you about longing

**Author's Note:**

> The first situation is based loosely off [this scene.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYNQLDCF0GU/)

Steve has been acting weird all day.

First off, he moves out of the way immediately when Tony starts grumbling about using the coffee machine, when usually he eyeballs him and asks him how many cups he’s had this morning, how many he’s planning on having, whether or not it’s humanly possible to drown yourself in caffeine, etc.

Then he yells at a guy who’s trying to sell them a hotdog, because they’re already late for the meeting at SHIELD. It’s only a quick, stern, “Get out of the WAY,” but it gets the rest of the Avengers to look at each other, because Steve chews them out if they’re ever rude to ‘the good people of New York who are just trying to make a living and don’t deserve to get any grief for it.’

During the meeting, he continues to talk over Fury until he gets shouted at, and even then, when he normally nods and says, “Sir,” and shuts up, he keeps going. He’s aggravated, shifting in his seat and tapping his fingers against the table. He also starts having mood swings, which they brush off as just Steve being under a lot of stress, but stop being able to ignore them after Steve yells at yet another SHIELD trainee.

After one of them runs out of the room crying after being verbally assaulted by a national icon, Tony leans over to Natasha and verbalizes what they’re all thinking. “What the fuck is up with Steve,” he asks, low enough that he himself can barely hear it.

“Nothing’s been out of the ordinary,” Natasha replies, and Tony doesn’t even see her lips move. “Has he been on anything lately? Something that would work on a super-soldier?”

“Fun fact about being a super-soldier,” Steve snaps from where he’s sitting at least twelve meters away on the other end of the table. “My hearing is a lot better than yours. Save it until after the meeting, you two. I’m fine.”

Everyone shares a look.

No-one realizes Steve hypnotized until after Clint, who’s finally had enough, sighs, “Shit, Cap, go take a dive from the window.”

And Steve does.

Nearly.

Very, very nearly, and there’s a second where the glass shatters from where Steve threw a chair into it and he’s less than a second from being airborne before Natasha is tackling him to the ground. “Thor,” she calls over her shoulder, “Come hold this idiot down.”

Thor complies, frowning, his meaty hands pushing down on Steve’s shoulders as he struggles.

 

 

 

 

It takes a good half an hour after that for Jane to walk in the room and declare flatly, “Yep, the dummy got himself hypnotized.”

“I’m not hypnotized,” Steve insists from where he’s sitting forcefully on a chair, his arms folded over his chest.

Jane cocks her head. “So you usually fling yourself out of twenty-story windows when Clint tells you to? Because if that’s the case, we’d have a lot more suicides in this place.”

Fury sighs deeply from where he’s been pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb for the last ten minutes. “What I would like to know is how exactly a group of highly-trained individuals didn’t notice their team leader had been hypnotized. What if I sent him out into the field like that?”

“I’m not hypnotized,” Steve says, louder. “I feel completely normal.”

“Dude,” Clint says. “Even if you didn’t just break a window with a chair and try to throw yourself out of it, you’ve been acting really weird. You’ve been bitching everyone out since you got up this morning, you got mad at Bruce when he said he needed another five minutes for his experiment. You made Louisa cry, man. You love Louisa!”

“She’s a good agent,” Steve says stiffly. “I just- she-”

“Made your coffee wrong?”

“She isn’t supposed to put three sugars in it!”

“She ran out _sobbing_ , Cap. I’ve seen the woman clean up bloody debris without batting an eyelash.”

“So,” Tony says. He expects Steve to talk over him, but all Steve does is turn to scowl at him, waiting for him to continue. Okay. Right.

Tony looks towards Jane. “How’d this happen and how do we stop it?”

Jane shrugs, which is always a good start. “We’re working on it. We’re trying to determine if there will be any long-term consequences-”

“Other than being an aggravated dickhead and throwing himself from skyscrapers,” Tony supplies.

“You can’t hypnotize someone against their moral character.” Jane nods over at Steve, who is sitting more violently than Tony has ever seen anyone sit. “Steve has a… brutal streak. But it’s the hypnosis bringing it out, and so far the only thing the hypnosis is doing is destroying his impulse control. And making him highly suggestible to the ideas of others, as you saw, thanks to Clint.”

Bruce is picking at his shirt, toying it between his fingers nervously. “What, so all it takes is someone going up to him and asking Steve to take a long walk off a short pier, and he’ll just do it?”

“I don’t think so,” Jane says, looking at Steve the way she sometimes looks at her lab experiments. “If he’s not that deeply into the trance, I’m pretty sure he’d need a strong emotional connection for it to kick in for him to blindly obey them. So on one hand, Clint, now you know you guys are tight. On the other hand, you nearly killed the guy. Nice job.”

“I’m flattered and also horrified,” Clint says.

Thor asks, “What are we to do with our Captain?”

“For now? Keep him under observation.” Jane has started to inch forwards, tiny shuffles Tony remembers her making towards science projects she calls Tony about later when she’s plastered. “But,” she says, with that gleam in her eyes that Tony had become incredibly cautious of, “we should find out how deeply he’s hypnotized. Just in case.”

“ _Right_ ,” Steve says. His crossed arms flex. “Because I’m in a trance.”

“No, no, you’re conscious. Sort of. Half. Ish,” Jane shrugs, and pulls a chair out from the table to sit down on it in front of him. “Okay. So the near-suicide thing could have maybe been a fluke. And I’m not that close with Steve, so this shouldn’t work if he isn’t really far into it. Deeply hypnotized people are very suggestible and have very little inhibition.”

“So he’s drunk,” Natasha intones.

Jane shrugs again. “With less puking and more of what I assume is magic wreaking havoc on the psychological side of things, yes. Hey, Steve, do me a favour.”

Steve glares.

“Close your eyes.”

Steve continues to glare. His locked jaw flutters as he looks around the room, from face to face.

Jane clasps her hands in front of her face. “Please?”

“Fine,” he says. “If it’ll make all of you shut up about how I’m _hypnotized_ ,” and his eyes close. Somehow, he manages to sort of glare at Jane through his eyelids.

Jane really doesn’t seem to care. _Science_ is happening. “Now relax,” she says. Her voice starts to become hushed, lulling. “Don’t tell me, but think about it. Alright? Think about what you most want to be doing right now.”

Steve’s locked jaw slackens slightly. His crossed arms shift.

“You can be doing anything in the whole world,” Jane continues, sugary and soft, crooning. Her eyes are trained on his closed ones, watching his arm muscles tick, his eyes move under his lids, his throat work as he swallows.

“The whole world, Steve. Everything and everyone at your fingertips. No limitations. There is no wrong answer here. No wrong thing you can be doing. It’s all okay.”

Steve’s expression relaxes fully, and Jane’s voice drops to a whisper: “What are you gonna do?”

She keeps watching him, as does everyone else in the room, all leaning over to watch Steve. She smiles, a tiny, excited smile that Tony equates with evil scientists.

“Now,” she says. “I want you to open your eyes, and do it. Do whatever you like.”

Steve opens his eyes, and everyone leans back into place. He glances over at- Tony?- and then makes a sound like a scoff, soft and disbelieving and nervous as all hell. Then he _blushes_ , a flush that spreads down to his neck, glancing over at Tony again, then away, then back again and blushing even harder and what the _fuck_.

“Okaaaay,” Tony says. “I’m going to do talk to Darcy and see what we can do to get Steve to snap out of this, whatever this is. I’m outies,” and he’s walking away when he hears the chair scrape against the floor.

Then there’s a hand on his arm, and it’s definitely Steve’s, he’d recognize those hands anywhere, they’ve pulled him out of too many broken buildings for Tony to ever forget them. And the hand turns him, gentle, and Tony lets himself be turned with it, mostly out of surprise, and there’s Steve and his stupid blush, and he looks utterly glazed over, and-

Tony is being kissed.

By Steve.

The two things don’t compute, even in Tony’s supercomputer of a brain. Steve’s mouth is soft against his, pressing lightly, and Tony blames him kissing back on the fact that it’s a _habit_ , okay, when you get kissed you kiss back, it’s only polite. So Tony’s kissing back, and Steve’s hands are cupping the back of Tony’s head, terrifyingly gentle, and Tony’s seen these hands literally rip the head off of a HYDRA agent, he’s seen these hands close around a shield, he’s seen these hands bruising charcoal over a page and helping people out of a sinking ship and these hands are stroking long lines through Tony’s hair like Tony’s precious.

And then- then, _oh_ , yes, that’s a tongue, that is most definitely a tongue, and it’s sweeping over the seam of Tony’s lips to get him to open them, and Tony parts his lips and their tongues meet and when the fuck did Tony close his eyes, he’s sure they were open when Steve turned him around, did he close his eyes as a response to being kissed, the same way he started kissing back?

Distantly, Tony hears Natasha say, “Huh,” kind of thoughtfully, but it’s pushed firmly into the back of his mind because Steve’s hands are big and warm and in his hair, and his thumbs are pressing small, gentle circles into Tony’s jawline, teasing along the ends of his goatee.

Tony’s arms are around Steve’s back. When the _fuck_ did that happen? His hands are against Steve’s shoulderblades, pressing flat, and he’s pretty sure he’s never had his hands there during four years of sparring. Four years of Steve all sweaty and laughing and grunting and warm to the touch and underneath him and panting on top of him.

Four years of Steve never even hinting that he ever wanted this. Which is good, right, it’s good because then Tony would feel really bad about turning him down. And he would turn him down, because Steve is his best friend and a _man_ and Tony is straight, and he thought _Steve_ was straight, but apparently not, because he’s kissing Tony-

And Tony is kissing Steve right the fuck back.

This is the thought that finally kicks Tony’s brain back into gear at a million miles an hour, wrenching out of Steve’s arms and coming close to outright staggering backwards. He bumps into a chair, grabs at it to steady himself, and Bruce’s arm is on his arm to steady him even further, and Tony turns and says, “Thanks,” and Bruce is all raised eyebrows as he says, “No problem,” and Tony’s mouth tastes like Steve’s mouth and oh my god _what_.

Steve stands innocently where Tony left him, hands limp at his sides, staring dumbly.

There’s a short silence, but it’s the most awkward one Tony’s ever endured. And that’s saying something, considering the twenty years he spent drinking himself to sleep and having sex in positions that weren’t possibly weren’t particularly advisable.

“Oh, wow,” Jane says. “He’s _really_ deeply hypnotized.”

“Yeah,” Tony squeaks. He clears his throat. Tries again. “Yeah. I. What?”

“Uh,” Jane says. “That wasn’t-” She wiggles a finger between the two of them. “That wasn’t… conscious, I don’t think.”

“What?” Tony looks over at Steve. “He’s conscious. Look, he’s awake. Totally conscious. What?”

“No, I mean that whole- the, um- I don’t think he knows, _consciously_ , about the, um.” Jane is still wiggling her finger between Steve and Tony, nodding a lot. “He’s really out of it.”

Tony keeps looking at Steve. It’s true, he does look like he’s been hit over the head very recently. Everything about him is slack. His hands are hanging, his eyes half-lidded. Also his mouth looks _destroyed_ , gorgeous and plush and red and sort of spit-slick-

 _Nope_ , Tony tells himself. _Don’t go there. At all. Bad_.

“Shit,” Jane says shakily. She laughs, just as shaky. “Wow, raise your hand if you didn’t see that coming. I mean, it’s fine,” she rushes to say, though Steve looks like he couldn’t care less. “It’s all cool, obviously. It doesn’t, like, make you _less of a man_ or anything, that you want to mack on Tony’s face. He has a nice face.”

“I’m in love with him,” Steve announces into the room, easy and casual and making something in Tony’s stomach clench as his brain shuts down again for a moment.

Jane blinks rapidly. “You’re. You’re, you’re, uh. Uh? Okay? That’s fine.”

“Raise your hand if you didn’t see _that_ coming,” Clint says, surprised.“This is going to be so awkward when we un-hypnotize him again. Drunk ‘I love you’ revelations to your friends suck. Especially when the ‘I love you’ person is right there and listening.” Clint leans to one side to get a better look at Steve. “Kind of insulted he didn’t tell me that time last year we were convinced evacuation wasn't coming and were both crying and bleeding everywhere and being all truthful, but whatever.”

“But I didn’t know I’m in love with him,” Steve pipes up.

Clint says, “Okay that makes me less insulted and more confused,” and Steve continues, “I still don’t,” suddenly sounding puzzled and kind of scared and making everyone frown at him all over again.

“What do you mean you didn’t know,” Jane says. “You just said it.”

“I don’t…” Steve shakes his head, too slow. His movements are clumsy, stilted, like he is when he’s lost too much blood. “I don’t… know,” he says.

“Oops,” Jane says. “Uh. I think our little exercise might have made the trance worse?”

Fury says, “How so,” his expression undecipherable.

Jane coughs daintily. “Um, judging by how he just said he didn’t know he knew- or knows- he didn’t know that he knew or that he knows, say that three times fast- um, I think we’re down to his subconscious? Like, really far down?”

“Then _undo_ it,” Tony hisses.

“I can’t,” Jane says, sounding sorry. “Whoever hypnotized him used a specific trigger, and unless I know it I can’t do anything. We have to find the person- or entity, whatever- that did this to him.”

“And kick his ass.”

“And kick his ass,” Jane agrees.

“I have to go,” Steve says suddenly, surprising everyone. He starts to walk to the door, and Jane asks him where he’s going with the amount of excitement Tony’s seen her display towards inter-dimensional travel, and Steve’s face is blank when he says he can’t tell her, he just needs to go, now. When Clint gets in the way, Steve shoves him and tries to keep walking.

 “Captain,” Fury says, “Stop. That’s an order.”

Steve falters, but continues.

Thor says, “It is the entity. We should follow him, not stop him.”

“He’s not a guinea pig,” Natasha snaps. She turns to Tony. “Talk to him, Stark. He’ll listen to you.”

Tony says, “What,” and Natasha says, “ _Go_ ,” and Tony does.

He catches up to Steve, holding the door open from where Steve just walked through it. “Hey, Cap- Steve!”

Steve’s steps fumble. He turns.

“Stay,” Tony says after a second. Then: “Please.”

Steve looks at him. His brow furrows.

“Please,” Tony repeats.

“Okay,” Steve says finally, like it pains him. He glances back into the room where his team are watching. “But- not for long.”

“Sure,” Tony says, and takes Steve’s arm. Steve willingly goes without any further encouragement, and Tony has to hide his surprise with a hasty smile. “Come sit with me.”

“Okay,” Steve says, and lets Tony lead him back into the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Steve wakes up to the blank ceiling of SHIELD Medical.

 _Great_ , his mind supplies. _Always a fantastic start to the day_.

He mentally goes over himself as he sits up- nothing appears to be out of place, or injured. His team are in a circle around him, since they know he hates to wake up in Medical by himself.

“Hey,” he says. “Did we win?”

“We did,” Thor booms. “It was glorious! We regret you could not be there, Captain.”

Steve’s frown deepens as he watches Clint dig an elbow into Thor’s side. “If I wasn’t there, why am I in Medical?”

Actually, following that side of things, how did he get _here_ in the first place? The last thing he remembers is getting up this morning, and- and there was a woman in the bathroom. He remembers reaching for his shield, but-

“What happened,” he asks, more sharply.

“You’re fine,” Bruce says quickly. “But you spent the last 12 hours, uh. Hypnotized. Nothing bad happened, though.”

“You… don’t sound too sure about that.”

Bruce’s shrug is too fast to be anything but suspicious. “Yeah, well. Ah.”

“Ah,” Steve prompts. When no-one steps up to answer, he looks around at everyone, before he realizes something. “Where’s Tony?”

“Workshop,” they all answer.

“Is he okay?”

“Yes,” they all answer. It’s creepy. Also extremely worrying.

“What happened,” Steve asks again.

His team look at each other, then back at him.

“What _happened_ ,” Steve says, more insistent.

Clint mutters, “Dibs not,” and Natasha immediately follows, and Thor opens his mouth, but then Bruce sighs loudly. “Oh, for God’s sake, you lot are children. I’ll- tell him. It’s not a big deal, anyway,” he says, eyeing all of them.

“Agreed,” Clint says quickly. “Yeah, Steve, we’re all good with it, including Tony, he’s totally fine with it- uh, yeah, so we’ll just. Be back at the Tower.”

He leaves, Natasha and Thor in tow, and Steve is getting seriously concerned now.

He raises his eyebrows expectantly at Bruce, who sits down in the chair next to his bed and folds his hands together in the way he does when he’s uncomfortable. “I am not this kind of doctor,” Bruce says eventually. “And I’m definitely not the person you want to talk to about this, you probably want Darcy, she doesn’t start stammering when someone brings up- I don’t know, sex toys, or something. They’re sending a therapist over, she was supposed to be here when you woke up, but she got held up. She’ll be here in- fifteen minutes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve croaks. “What the hell did I _do_?”

“Cap,” Bruce says, and hesitates. His fingers shuffle. “During the hypnosis, the Jinxing Jitterbox- that’s the guy who hypnotized you,” he explains, when Steve looks at him questioningly. “He sort of, he, ah, stripped away your brain a bit. Lowered your impulse control. Then your subconscious… rose to the surface, I suppose.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly.

“That means you, uh. You knew things you wouldn’t usually, if you were conscious. Like, like things you just never thought about, or things you. Uh.” Bruce clears his throat. “Supressed.”

“Right,” Steve says. “So what did I supress?”

Bruce raises a hand to scratch his nose. He rubs a hand through his hair. He’s stalling, Steve knows, and he’s wondering what the hell he could have done to make everyone behave like this. God, did he hurt any of them by accident? Or even worse, on _purpose_? He knows he has a temper, and sometimes it gets the better of him, but these are his friends, his _family_ , surely he didn’t try to hurt them.

A thought hits him: God, what if that’s the reason Tony’s in his workshop?

His mind races to black eyes, broken arms. Yes, Tony can be maddeningly annoying, and it’s possible that once or twice he’s imagined being a bit forceful to get him to shut up, but he’d never actually _do_ it. But with impulse control gone- maybe he seriously _hurt_ Tony, maybe his team are lying to make Steve feel better and Tony is lying a few beds away, all bandaged and breathing wrong-

“Is Tony okay,” he asks urgently.

Bruce startles. “What? Yes, Tony’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Bruce frowns. “We told you, Steve. Tony’s fine. But, uh. What you- repressed- it’s about him.”

Steve waits.

“Again,” Bruce says, despairing, “I’m not this kind of doctor. I _cannot_ stress that enough.”

“Bruce, just tell me. I can handle it.”

“You kissed Tony and told us all you’re in love with him,” Bruce says in a rush. “But it was your subconscious, so you don’t actually _know_ that you know.”

Steve waits for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, he laughs. “Seriously? Bruce, he’s been one of my best friends for over four years. It’s _Tony_.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says, seemingly at a loss of what else to say.

“It’s _Tony_ ,” Steve repeats, his smile dying. “You can’t honestly tell me that I’m- that I’m in _love_ with him.”

Bruce shrugs helplessly. “You told us first, if it helps. Which it probably doesn’t. Look, I know this has got to be confusing for you-”

“Damn right it’s _confusing for me_ , Bruce, you just told me you guys dug around in my subconscious and found out I’m in love with my best friend. My _male_ best friend. Who is a _man_.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” says Bruce gently.

Steve bristles. “I know there’s nothing wrong with that, I would go to my grave defending equality, but _I’m_ not- and Tony’s- I’m not in love with him,” he finishes lamely. Then he laughs again, half-hysterically, because the whole thing is ridiculous. “How did you find out about my _tragic pining_ , anyhow?”

“Jane asked you what you wanted to do most in the world. You kissed Tony.”

“I’ve never wanted to kiss him,” Steve says hoarsely. “Hand to God. I’ve never thought about him like that. I have never, ever, not once looked at him and thought anything like that. I’ve- it’s never-”

“Subconscious, Steve,” Bruce reminds him. “You didn’t realize it. No-one expects you to realize it.”

“It’s _Tony_ ,” Steve says, for what feels like the thousandth time. “Goddamnit, Bruce, it’s _Tony_ , how could he think I was in love with him?”

“Maybe because you told him.”

“He thinks I’m in love with him,” Steve says numbly.

Bruce keeps quiet. Steve hears it anyway: _You **are** , Steve_.

 

 

 

 

Tony goes on a business trip to Japan the next morning.

Steve rings him, and his heart sinks when it goes to voicemail, but in the way that means someone picked up their phone, saw you were calling, and then clicked ‘ignore.’

He considers leaving a voicemail, but decides against it. Instead he goes up to his room and reads, and when that leaves too much room for his thoughts, he goes down to the gym and throws Natasha around for a while.

When she leaves, he stays behind and drums at the punching bag. The bag is reinforced, thanks to Tony, who designed it to endure Steve and Steve alone.

Steve punches and punches until his knuckles split, because thanks to Tony, he can.

 

 

 

 

He calls Pepper, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Pepper and him are ‘gal pals,’ as Clint calls them. They go to museums because no-one else seems to want to go, and go out for milkshakes every week or so. She’s also Tony’s ex, and Steve doesn’t know if he feels better or worse about calling her about this.

“I’m not in love with him, I swear to God,” he tells her when she picks up.

She’s quiet for a few seconds. “I think you believe that, Steve, I really do.”

Steve groans. “Not you, too.”

“The others told me what happened,” Pepper says. “Steve, I’d have to say-”

“He’s a man, he’s my best friend, he’s Tony,” Steve says, repeating the points he’s been making far too many times over the past few days. “And he’s still on that damn Japan trip, no matter how many times he texts me saying he’s ‘fine with it.’”

Pepper sighs. “Steve.”

“Yes?”

“Lets’ go over those points you just told me, okay?”

“Sure.”

“One,” Pepper says. “He’s a man. How is this hindering you being in love with him?”

“I’m straight! It’s concerning how many times I’ve had to repeat this!”

“You’re straight,” Pepper says. “So you don’t think it’s possible that you accidentally, without your knowledge or intention, fell in love with a man?”

“No,” Steve says. “No, I don’t think that’s possible. Because I’m _straight_. I don’t like men like that.”

“Steve,” Pepper says, and then stops. “Look, I get where you’re coming from, trust me. But- you’ve seen so much, been through so much I don’t even want to think about it, do you really think humans are that rigid? That loving people is so- black and white?”

Steve swallows. His throat clicks. “I- not for some people, no.”

“And you’re already aware that we don’t get a choice in the people we love.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m aware of that.”

“So you can’t even consider the possibility that _maybe_ it happened to you?”

Steve is silent.

“Okay,” Pepper says. “Now, your second point was that he’s your best friend. What about it? Personally, I’ve found that the best romantic relationships start with friendship.”

“I agree,” Steve says. “Yeah, I- you’re right.”

“That has been known to happen,” Pepper says, and Steve manages a laugh. “And lastly,” Pepper says, “He’s Tony. How does this stop you being in love with him?”

Steve struggles. “He’s- you _know_ , you’ve been in love with him.”

“I do know. But I want to hear you say your version.”

“He’s so inappropriate,” Steve says, scrubbing a hand down over his face. “He talks over me all the time, and he’s so smart and he never lets anyone forget it, sometimes he goes off into rants and I don’t understand what he’s saying because half of it is numbers. He drinks too much. Or drank too much, I can’t tell anymore. He spends too much time in his workshop, though he’s been getting better lately. He’s loud. We argue _so much_ , you have no idea, you only see about a third of it, it’s ridiculous. He has that- that stupid persona, that Tony Stark bullcrap that he puts on when he goes out, I _hate_ that. He’s manipulative. He never remembers birthdays, he works too much, he drinks too much coffee and doesn’t eat enough, he never says stop when he’s had too much, he’s _idiotically_ self-sacrificing, he’s stubborn, he’s so _stubborn_ , god. He never gets enough sleep and doesn’t tell us when he’s injured.”

He stops. Takes a long breath. Presses the heel of his left hand to his eyes.

“He never says what he means,” he says on the exhale.

“Steve?”

“Yes?”

“I think you’re in love with Tony.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that he’s starting to think she’s right.

 

 

 

 

“You have eight missed calls from Pepper Potts,” a voice calls as Tony makes his way down the hall.

Tony winces. “Tell her I’m busy.”

“And another one from Steve Rogers,” the girl- whatsherface, something starting with R- says, popping her head around the door. “Should I tell him you’re busy, too?”

“No, no, I’ll text him.” Tony holds his hand out for the phone, and she slides it into his hand. Tony pauses. “Did you listen to the message?”

Whatsherface schools her face blank. “I did, Sir. It’s my job.”

“Right,” Tony says. “Could you- not listen to his messages?”

“Of course. Sir.” She bows, and Tony manages a distracted bow back, and she leaves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _You might remember it in bits and pieces_ , Steve’s therapist tells him. _Most of it will come as dreams_.

Steve dreams about kissing Tony until he doesn’t know what happened and what he made up in his head.

He keeps waking up hard, and when he comes minutes later with his hand around himself, he keeps imagining Tony.

Not any other guys, just Tony. Tony’s hands around him, his deft fingers inside him. Tony’s voice, low and dirty in his ear, punctuated with choked moans. Tony’s mouth, pressing kisses to Steve’s neck, his navel; sucking kisses onto the head of Steve’s dick. Tony’s tongue, his hot breath, his ever-warm hands with all those scars, his overheated skin pressing all over.

Lately, Steve’s been biting down on his bottom lip when he comes so he doesn’t say Tony’s name.

Then he has to bite down even harder so he doesn’t follow it with _I love you._

 

 

 

 

 

Tony skypes Rhodey during the flight back. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Rhodey says. And, because Rhodey doesn’t screw around: “So Pepper called me.”

Curses. “Did she? Tell her I said hi.”

“You’ve been avoiding both our calls,” Rhodey accuses.

“Lies.”

“Truth,” Rhodey says. “Cold, hard truth, Stark. Just like the truthbomb I heard got dropped on you when our friend Cap got mind-whammied.”

Tony shrugs it off. “Doesn’t count.”

“No?”

“No, it doesn’t. He was hypnotized. He wasn’t himself. It doesn’t count.”

“I think it counts more. That was his subconscious, Tony. The deep-and-dark, nitty-gritty truths that never get to see the light of day, except this one did.”

Tony takes a sip of his water. Not scotch. He’s been very good this week; only got trashed once and that wasn’t his fault, they kept serving him gin and tonics, what else was he supposed to do? “Steve didn’t know.”

Rhodey snorts. “What, so is that how it’s gonna be now? You both ignore what happened and Steve pines away quietly? You’re not that much of an ass, Tony.”

“He’s not in love with me.”

“Tony.”

“He’s _not_.”

“ _Tony_.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“And what about you?”

Tony starts. “What about me, what?”

“Are you going to get over it?”

“I texted him it was okay. I’m fine with it. I’m a very attractive man, and he’s only human.”

“I meant are you going to get over the fact that _you’re_ in love with the guy?”

Tony stares at his friend’s pixelated face for a good ten seconds. He think he should laugh. Laughing would be a good response. But he doesn’t, because he’s thought about this no matter how much he pretends he hasn’t.

He takes another sip of water, wishing for scotch. Vodka. Absinthe, absinthe is crazy shit and would be perfect right now. “I’m not in love with Steve.”

“Uh-huh. How many times did you repeat that to yourself before you believed it?”

“I’m _straight_ , Rhodey.”

“So’s Steve.”

“So what the hell was this entire conversation?”

“You’re both straight,” Rhodey sighs. “Okay? You’re both straight, you both like women, you just happened to fall for someone with a dick. It’s not a big deal.”

“I know it’s not a big deal,” Tony snaps.

“You kind of sound like you think it’s a huge deal. Tony?”

Tony sips. “What?”

“What if Steve was a woman?”

“She’d be hot.”

“Tony.”

“I don’t know,” Tony mutters into his glass. “I don’t know, okay? But Steve’s not a woman. He’s very much a fine member of the male species, even I can acknowledge that, and I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“So you _are_ freaking out?”

“Little bit,” Tony admits. He’s sort of proud. This, ladies and gentlemen, is self-improvement. He’s grown as a person. Therapy is actually working. “Not a lot,” he amends. “Just. A teeny tiny bit, yeah.”

“Do you find Steve attractive?”

“Rhodey.”

“Hey, just a question.”

“I don’t- find men attractive like that.”

“I didn’t ask about men, I asked about _Steve_.”

Tony thinks about it.

Women are hot. So’s the _v_ of their hips; the weight of their breasts in his hands. Breasts are great, all soft and firm and sensitive. And the sounds women make, all high and breathy and sometimes giggly. Those pitched little moans when he went down on them; Steve could never make that noise unless he got his vocal cords messed with. He also couldn’t wear lingerie, which Tony loves, especially lace. Well, he _could_ , and that image sends something uncomfortably like a shiver down his spine, a really _good_ shiver, and he isn’t emotionally prepared to face that right now, so he moves on.

Steve- Steve is attractive, he can say that, objectively. He’s the peak of human perfection, so he can’t be that and not be completely bangable. His shoulder to wait ratio is insane. Tony often gets distracted when Steve is drawing in his workshop, because he can’t stop analysing the angle of his neck.

Women are soft, and Steve isn’t, he’s all hard edges and the perfect cut of his arm muscles, his abs, his thighs, his strong jaw and large, blunt fingers.

Then Tony starts remembering those large fingers attached to his large hand, and then that large hand cupping Tony’s face all gentle and warm and nice, and has to make himself think of something else again.

Women are beautiful, but Steve’s- well, Steve’s sort of beautiful, Tony guesses you could say that. With those eyelashes, which are so faint they’re hardly there. He has good eyebrows. Nice smile. He cuts his fingernails to a decent length. His wrists are magnificent; the man could model watches and make it into a porn magazine. He’s all solid, all thick and swelling muscles and somehow still beautiful, weirdly graceful; the slope of his nose, neck, the sweep of his lashes, how he holds a pencil, how the sweat glints off his bare chest and back in the gym. His knuckles are gorgeous, bruised, bloody or otherwise. He makes almost everything look effortless.

Tony thinks about how the skin pulls evenly over Steve’s adam’s apple, and realizes that while it doesn’t look appealing on any other guy he can imagine, watching Steve swallow is- definitely something Tony would pay to see. They should fund for the next Helicarrier like that; getting civilians to cue up to watch Steve drink a bottle of water. They’d make a fortune.

And with the whole gay sex thing- prostates are good, Tony knows. A bit too much trouble, but good when the whim strikes him. Not to mention everything he’s read about Steve’s dick. Not that there’s excessive amounts about it, just a few notes here and there about how the serum would make a super-soldier… not have a refectory period. They’d be able to come and then get hard instantly afterwards, and _god_ , Steve would be so _sensitive_. He’d probably whimper. Beg a little. Say Tony’s name sort of helplessly, his voice shaking on it-

Shit, Tony’s attracted to Steve. Which wouldn’t be a problem, given that he’s attracted to a lot of people, but the thing is, even with this crazy amount of newfound lust lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach, he would honestly be totally fine with just- spending time with Steve.

Never having sex with him might make Tony occasionally chafe his dick with sexual frustration, but he’d survive. He’d be happy, he thinks, with just sitting on the couch with him and watching TV. Maybe falling asleep on Steve’s shoulder. Maybe getting woken up with a kiss-

“Fuck,” Tony says out loud.

Rhodey’s laugh is tinny over the screen. “Took you long enough, man.”

 

 

 

Tony arrives home and spends a good half hour of walking to his workshop, then changing his mind and going to Steve’s room, waiting there for thirty seconds to get up the courage to knock on the door, then swearing under his breath and going back to the workshop.

Rinse. Repeat.

The third time he does this, he runs into Steve in the hallway.

“Hi!” Tony clears his throat. Tones it down a notch. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve says. His hands go to his pockets before coming out again. “Nice trip?”

“It was okay.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking,” Steve starts, at the same time Tony begins to say, “So I had something I thought I should tell you.”

They both stop.

“You first,” Steve says.

“I, uh.” _Fuck’s sake, Stark, you are a fully grown-ass man._ “Are you still in love with me?”

Steve looks like he’s about to charge into battle. Tony expects a pause, but Steve only hesitates a second before he says, “I didn’t think I was at all, but it turns out I am. So, yes.”

Tony nods on autopilot. “Right. Okay.”

“You were going to tell me something?”

“I was. Am,” Tony corrects. “I, uh. You, too. I’m in love with you, too.”

For a few seconds, Steve just stares, absorbing this.

“You’re not joking.”

“No.” Tony shakes his head, wonders if he should make a pun, or something. But instead he says, “No, never about this,” and it comes out brutally honest and too raw and Tony nearly flinches.

“Okay. Good.” Steve swallows. “I don’t really know what to do now,” he admits, and laughs.

Tony says, “You could take me to bed,” and shrugs, and watches as the breath punches out of Steve.

It takes two swallows for Steve’s mouth to get enough moisture to say, “I could,” and Tony enjoys every second of each swallow.

“If you want,” Tony says.

Steve is watching him carefully. “Do you… want? That?”

“I want,” Tony nods. “Yeah, I. Like you said, I didn’t think I did. But hey, we’re both idiots, so.”

“So,” Steve agrees, nodding with him. He’s smiling, just a little bit, his mouth twitching at the edges. “Shall we?”

“Fuck, definitely.”

Steve holds out his hand, and Tony takes it. “This should be weird, I guess,” Tony muses.

“Is it?”

“Nah. What about you, is this weird?”

“No,” Steve says, and his smile softens. “It’s you.”

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/)


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